


guns and spirits (they won't go)

by AsunaChinaDoll



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Background Relationships, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Cassian Andor Needs a Hug, Cassian Andor-centric, Character Study, During Canon, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Cassian Andor, Pre-Rogue One, maybe not THAT heavy but definitely not light either, poor baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25960819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsunaChinaDoll/pseuds/AsunaChinaDoll
Summary: “My handsome Cassian,” she murmurs. “Te quiero mucho.”Would she still love him now, if she knew what he has done for the Rebellion? What he would do?He does not know.Maybe he chooses not to.ORCassian grows up as a child of war.
Relationships: Cassian Andor & K-2SO, Minor Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso - Relationship
Comments: 25
Kudos: 37





	guns and spirits (they won't go)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey! Hope you're all doing good. So I originally wrote this for Cassian Andor Appreciation Week that took place back in July, but unfortunately and unsurprisingly, I didn't make the deadline aha. But!! I still like what I had so I decided to fix it up to be at least presentable lol. Took a lot of inspo from the official Cassian playlist on Spotify which is AMAZING btw please give it a listen if you haven't already. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy my friend :))))

There is a little boy standing in front of a mirror. 

He blinks wide, dark eyes, scanning his reflection. A thick, unzipped coat hugs his frame, the same material comprising his pants, designed to keep out the cold. He glances down at the zipper, moving mitted hands to fasten it.

“Let me help you, mijo,” comes a familiar voice. He looks up to see his mother, dressed in a similar fashion. He drops his hands as she kneels in front of him, watching her move. Her ungloved hands give her better dexterity, and she easily zips the coat up to his collar. Then, she reaches for a scarf, wrapping it snuggly around his neck. 

“There we go,” she says, giving him a close-lipped smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes, like when Papa makes her laugh. He tugs gently at the scarf, freeing his mouth.

“Thank you, Mami.” He smiles back anyway.

He watches his mother look at him. He doesn’t miss the tightness of her shoulders, the deep lines of her face. She’s tired in a way sleep won’t fix. He doesn’t like it.

“Mami?” He waits till she meets his eyes. 

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

A strange look crosses her face, before it shifts, and she smiles a little too widely, a little too forced. 

“Of course, baby,” she answers, idly carding her fingers through his dark hair. “I’m just worried about Papa.”

He nods with understanding. “Me too,” he replies solemnly. “But he’ll be okay. He pinky-promised.”

Her face softens then. After a moment, she tells him, “You’re right.”

Her palms cup his face and she pulls him to her, pressing a kiss to his hair. She brushes a stray lock from his forehead, deft fingers tracing the line of his cheek.

“My handsome Cassian,” she murmurs. When she smiles again, he can tell it’s real. 

* * *

There is a boy just shy of his tenth year. He killed someone for the first time.

(It wasn’t technically his first. He has shot plenty of Stormtroopers, blown them to pieces with nothing more than a backwards glance to make sure they won’t rise again.)

This is different, for reasons he cannot explain. But he witnessed life leave the man’s eyes gray and glassy, trembling fingers slick with warm blood, and he bolts. He almost trips over his own feet as he darts around the corner of a duracrete wall. He shoves back against it, rib cage rattling at the impact. Terror and adrenaline stir and course in his veins, making his heart pound wildly, and he didn’t know his heart beat could get so _loud_ , why is everything _so loud?_

He buries his face to his knees (when did he sink to the ground?), curls impossibly tighter into himself. His head feels light and he tells himself to breathe, _just breathe_. But the putrid smell of copper staining his hands fills his nose, and he swallows thickly, fighting the bile burning at his throat. 

_I had no choice_ , he tells himself.

_I had no choice._ His hands won’t stop shaking.

_I had no choice._

He turns and vomits on the dirt.

* * *

There is a boy—though he has not been a _boy_ in years—who stands in front of a mirror in the refresher. There is a slight tremble in his hands from the way he scraped them clean, numbly watching the discolored water swirl down the drain. His knuckles are blotched an angry red.

He exhales harshly, bending forward and splashing cool water on his face. He doesn’t feel any better. He looks up into the mirror. 

He has lost some of the softness in his cheeks and is growing into the sharper planes of his face and jaw. The beginnings of stubble pepper his chin and the space above his lip. He takes in the pallor of his skin, the dark circles collected under his eyes, the hook of his nose that wasn’t quite the same after a trooper slammed him with the butt of their blaster. He notices the length of his hair, lifting his chin towards his reflection to see dark strands curling around his ears. It will need trimming soon.

He looks into his eyes.

Cassian can glance across a room and read his target like a holonovel, latching onto even the most minute tells, building a profile in his mind on what makes them tick, and proceeding to use it to his advantage. 

But when he meets his gaze in the mirror, he can’t discern the look behind his own eyes.

At one point or another, he no longer recognizes himself.

* * *

_“My handsome Cassian,” she murmurs. “Te quiero mucho.”_

Would she still love him now, if she knew what he has done for the Rebellion? What he would do?

He does not know.

~~Maybe he chooses not to.~~

* * *

Judro Quizan is a tall man with an average build, and short-cropped hair he hides beneath a cap, casting a shadow over his hardened eyes. Most would say he’s intimidating, but get close enough and he’ll pull out the miniature holo-projector he keeps in his breast pocket and shows off his beautiful wife that he hasn’t stopped adoring, and his oldest son who has just entered flight school and he couldn’t be prouder of, and his little girl that he hopes will never outgrow his arms.

Judro Quizan is also an Imperial governor caught in the crosshairs of Cassian’s sniper scope.

He inhales. He pulls the trigger. 

He catches the fan of crimson spray, sees the instant Quizan is gone. Cassian disappears before the former Imperial hits the ground.

Cassian doesn’t think about the grieving wife, and the angry son, and the little girl wondering when her father will be home.

He swears he doesn’t.

* * *

There is a young man that waits with bated breath.

“Please work,” he begs. “ _Please_ work.”

He has spent a standard three weeks working on this, keeping his hands busy on restless nights, and after winning a few hands of sabacc, he was able to afford the last part he needed. Still, in the possibility that his efforts fail, he holds a blaster in his right hand.

The eyelights of the Imperial droid flicker and pulse rapidly as its systems reboot. Cassian waits.

Then, finally, in a clear, tinny voice, “System reboot successful.”

The droid’s eyes blink almost humanly, like waking from sleep. Eyelights dart around the room—analyzing, Cassian realizes—before landing on him. The droid tilts his head.

“Are you planning on shooting me?” The droid asks, in a way that surprises Cassian. He looks at the droid.

“That depends,” he says slowly. “Where does your allegiance lie?”

“My base coding informs me that I am a KX-series security droid in service to the Galactic Empire.” The droid looks around again as Cassian grips his blaster. “Though my memory banks reside at 4.7%, and from the state of this room, something tells me I’m no longer with the Empire.”

Cassian blinks. Did the droid just… insult his room? He supposes there may be some minor glitches in the droid’s reprogramming. After a silent moment of consideration, he sets the blaster aside.

“No, you aren’t,” he tells the droid. “You’re with me from now on. I’m Cassian.”

The droid eyes him up and down. “If I have to. My primary directive has been updated,” the droid says. “I am K-2SO.”

“I’ll just call you Kaytoo.”

“That is acceptable.”

The corner of Cassian’s mouth twitches up. He says, “Welcome home.”

This is what he doesn’t say: _“You’re the first thing my hands have not destroyed.”_

* * *

His hands are shaking as he scrambles up the pipes lining the wall, the body of Tivik cooling on the ground where he left him.

_I had no choice_ , he tells himself.

_I had no choice._ His hands won’t stop shaking.

_I had no choice._

(He has never thrown up again after that first time, but there are days he wishes he could if it means a release of everything he’s ever had to shove and push and claw away with his bare hands and the dirt under his nails.)

* * *

Galen Erso is the picture of an Imperial scientist. He stands with a rigid spine and hands clasped behind his back, gray uniform neat and creaseless, and he follows orders as well as he gives them, always speaking firmly but not unkind. Most would say he’s reserved and brilliant, but what they don’t know is that he is just a man—a father—who made a choice.

Galen Erso is also the only chance they have at destroying the Death Star, and his life rests in Cassian’s hands.

He knows what his orders are. He knows what the physical evidence tells him.

But Draven wasn’t on Jedha. Draven didn’t see with his own eyes what the Death Star can do, _will_ do, if they don’t stop it. And the flicker of hope they need is Erso.

As the rain pours, trickling into his eyes and soaking him to the marrow, Cassian makes a choice.

To Galen, he thinks, _"I don’t trust you. But I trust her.”_

He lowers the blaster.

( _"He said I could make it right,” Bodhi murmured. “If I was brave enough and listened to what was in my heart.”_

Maybe one day, he will give Bodhi his thanks for giving him the courage to be brave.)

* * *

“You might as well be a Stormtrooper.”

If he knew anything about Jyn Erso, it’s that she will burst into your life without taking off her boots, and she won’t pull her punches. She was in pain, and in the mood to start a fight.

In another situation, he may have walked away. But he was tired and angry, and in the mood to fight back.

So he snarled and yelled, each word bitter and deliberate, flowing off his tongue without remorse because he wanted to push her but he also wanted her to _understand_. When there was nothing left in him, he stalked away to the cockpit, irritation still bristling beneath his skin as he sat next to K-2. 

He exhaled a harsh breath, pushed aside everything that happened. He needs to focus. War is on the horizon. 

(He would never admit it aloud, but it had been awhile since he felt so empty.)

* * *

He sees Papa’s body, lying in the snow, scorched with blaster bolts. 

He sees Mami, who was never the same. 

He sees the blood on his hands, watches it dry and fall between the cracks of his skin. His chest feels tight, like a balloon about to burst. There is too much. He’s drowning in it, but he keeps breathing, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

* * *

_“You might as well be a Stormtrooper.”_

In the darker parts of his mind, he finds he is too tired to disagree with her.

* * *

Is he a monster?

No.

He is just a man. He is just Cassian.

* * *

Even hours before the meeting, he knows how it will end. The Rebellion is run by democracy after all, and he knows there are more people who would rather run than fight. So he starts a murmur.

He gives a message, a butterfly flapping its wings, and he watches as it stirs up the tide until it becomes a tsunami, leads it right to Jyn’s feet, and he tells her, “I believe you.”

When everyone else breaks away, they come together, two comets caught in each other’s orbit, just close enough to feel that warm presence without crashing.

“I’m not used to people sticking around when things go bad,” Jyn says, and he knows that’s the closest to gratitude he’ll get from her. 

The corner of Cassian’s mouth twitches up. He leans in a touch closer,  feels his skin prickle at the warmth radiating from her, and replies, “Welcome home.”

This is what he doesn’t say: _“I’m with you all the way.”_

(To see that he ignited that dangerous spark in her eyes is worthwhile enough.)

* * *

She says, “I’m glad you came.”

He almost didn’t catch it, with the blood rushing in his ears and the fiery horizon closing in on them. But the words were soft and earnest and grounding all at once, and it was more than enough.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he curls closer to her, presses his palm firmly between her shoulder blades. He lets that suffice as an answer. 

* * *

**_YOU’RE GONNA CARRY THAT WEIGHT._ **

**Author's Note:**

> JUST FYI THEY WERE SAVED BECAUSE THIS IS MY FIC MY RULES AND THEY GET TO BE ALIVE AND HAPPY DANG IT
> 
> Anyway!! Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you liked it! His character is definitely an intriguing one to me, and I CANNOT wait for the Cassian show to release >_< Please let me know your thoughts below!!! 
> 
> Have a good day/night and do me a favor? Stay hydrated <333
> 
> Feel free to yell at me on [Tumblr](https://asunachinadoll.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (Yes, I made an anime reference, and yes, I am a dork. @ me :PPP)


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